[After a lovely, relaxing, sun-filled five days at the lake, I am showered, wearing legitimate clothing, and heading home. I can tell I've had enough lake time for now because the Kansas City airport is rocking a little and I'm pretty sure that's not real. Anyway I sat down after being harassed at airport security about the threatening electric toothbrush I was packing [see what I did there?] and realized it's been kind of a long while since I actually wrote anything. My b. I promise I'll post something new and exciting this week - it's just that with all the jet-setting, Red Rocks attending and Bachelorette watching, I suppose I've just been far too busy being glamorous to blog.
But here's a little something - revised for your enjoyment from July 4, 2011]
I love fireworks. The fourth of July is far from my favorite holiday [though it is the birthday of my sweet Nana B, and that I love], but a good fireworks show is easily one of my favorite things. I don't honestly have an explanation for why I love them so much, why there is so much nostalgia attached to these particular crackles of colored light. It's just one of those things, I guess. It just is.
I am something of a fireworks snob, admittedly, as I grew up watching fireworks the only way I think fireworks should ever be watched - from right smack in the middle of a lake. While I can appreciate a good show on dry land, it's nothing compared to the combined sensory experience of the boat rocking gently back and forth, water lapping against the sides, the Apollo 13 soundtrack playing on the stereo [trust me on that one], and the occasional obnoxious yet somehow endearing cheers of lake people. I remember I used to feel like it was a secret we had, like something not everyone could possibly know. I've watched fireworks from rooftop patios with perfect views, sitting on the tops of cars, with people I love. But every time, no matter how good, I can't help but think that when fireworks are done right, as you lie in the dark stillness, you should be just a little worried about debris hitting you in the face. That's how you can tell you're close enough; when fireworks keep falling on your head.
I remember sitting with my little nieces and nephews in my lap as they marveled at the "firecracks." Each time, I found myself wiping tears from my eyes as wonder explodes from their little mouths - because I can remember just as vividly watching the fireworks when I was that little, my mouth gaping in equal parts excitement and terror, mesmerized by the colors taking shape above me. Something about fireworks, to this day, makes me feel dreamy. I remember watching, thinking about what my life might be like, someday. I remember being a boy-crazy teenager and thinking about the romance that was sure to come, of the hands I would someday hold under that same glittery sky. I remember distinctly feeling inexplicable peace as I watched the firecracks, surrounded comfortably by my people, imagining how I would bring my someday people there, someday - how I would let them in on the secret, and take them to the place where the fireworks fall on your face.
And now here we are: someday is here with still more someday to come. Fireworks create a rare space in time where I can love and live the present and feel hope and excitement for someday all at once. Even still, after years and years of hearing the same noises and watching the same finales, I watch [my mouth gaping] in equal parts wonder at the loveliness of today and dreamy dreams of romance & somedays to come.
And also an ever-so-slight underlying fear that a firework might hit me in the face.